


La Mia Religióne

by chibi_onna



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_onna/pseuds/chibi_onna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of them did not believe in a higher power; or even if they did, it was half-hearted at best. Until him. A collection of one shots dedicated to various pairings with Tsuna. All27 or 27All, sort of. There will be both romantic and non-romantic pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reborn: La Mia Religióne

**Author's Note:**

> Ciaossu, Chibi here. La Mia Religióne will be a collection of one-shots devoted to various 27 pairings (which are yaoi and yes there will be occasional lemons, so be warned) and/or simple non-romantic 27 relationships revolving around Tsuna's uncanny powers of making people take his side and eventually make googly eyes at him. I'm sure you'll get the idea from the title alone. XD An index for employed Italian words will be available at the end of each chapter because I'm OC like that. XD With that out of the way, I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I had fun in writing it (even if my soul is probably burning in hell right now). Also, this is my first KHR fanfic, so please don't hold back and tell me how well (or bad, depending on your perception XD) I did. n_n
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Eri (my buddy whose wavelengths are so in sync with mine it's scary) and Mich (a pal who fangirled with me when I needed it). XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter…
> 
> Pairing: **R27**
> 
> Rating: **E (for dark themes, sex, and borderline blasphemy / heresy)**

****Disclaimer:**** Katekyo Hitman Reborn belongs to Amano Akira-sensei. Damnit.

* * *

**Reborn: La Mia Religióne**

* * *

_**religióne** [reli'ʤone] s.f._

_**1** il complesso di credenze e di atti di culto che collega la vita dell'uomo a un ordine superiore e soprattutto alla divinità, intesa come fine ultimo di tutte le cose_

_**2** [in senso figurato] sentimento di riverenza_

_**3** ordine monastico, congregazione religiosa_

* * *

In the beginning, there was nothing but darkness. The world he lived in was bleak: cold and dank as his icy stare, full of evils only told in hushed whispers for fear of invoking the presence of the devil himself. Each day was the same and he went through the motions almost mechanically, doing nothing more nor less than what he had to, save for when his bloodlust got the better of him; and then there would be nothing but a grotesquely beautiful symphony of _sangue_ and screams and smoke in his wake, leaving death and darkness hanging thick in the air. And everyday he sank further into the inky abyss even if he had been swimming in it from the very start.

 

He was the best at what he did, and his name alone was enough to strike a crippling sensation of fear and awe in allies and enemies alike. He was a monster among monsters, a man with a blackened heart and a hollowed-out soul if he had any at all. A man who was, in the eyes of the cowardly righteous, _too far gone to be saved_.

 

' _Ignorant fools,'_ he thought with a condescending snort, _'Who needs to be saved?'_

 

After all, he was a man who believed in nothing but himself. As far as he was concerned, there was no god.

 

* * *

 

He was tempted to believe there was one—a god, that is—if only to have something to blame for all the feelings of frustration, disbelief and regret that threatened to swallow him whole. He looked down at the small hands, unable to fully grasp that they were actually his. He flexed his fingers once, twice, thrice, before clenching them with strength unnatural for his child body.

_What right_ , he grit his teeth, _what right did anything or anyone have to take such liberties on the life that was nobody else's but his own?_

 

Rage welled up from his being, churning unpleasantly in his chest before he silently turned and walked away from the seven others who had yet to move from utter shock. His face was a cold mask of indifference that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, his anger adding deadly shards to his frigid countenance. He took his gun out, thumb dangerously hovering over the safety.

 

Woe betide all those he would deem as enemies, for from this day forward he shall rain his wrath upon them; and their souls shall be a mockery of sacrifice to spite the god that dared inflict him with this curse and take what was his alone.

 

* * *

 

It took a while, but his fury abated with time; and soon he was left feeling empty after being filled with such fire for so long. Slowly, surely, the darkness receded, replaced by small patches of nothingness that ate at the blazing inferno of his rage. A detached calmness finally settled on him as he learned to accept that nothing could be done about the blasted curse—at least for now. He could do little else than go on with his eternity of a half-life: accepting jobs, making hits, seemingly doing as he damn well pleased. He killed with neither passion nor compassion, and the void eroded his being a little further each time. The chasm grew wider and he let himself fall deep into the hollow gorge, listless and unconcerned. It showed in his eyes, if one knew how to look; but then again, those who had the privilege of doing so were few and far in between. Most things have lost their meaning to him, and the only ones left with value in his eyes were respect for a few, honor on his word, and his own insurmountable pride.

 

The god he'd created had served its purpose and was nonchalantly thrown away, like the inconsequential garbage he thought it was.

 

* * *

_When did it start?_

 

He had no idea when it actually began. It was just another job, just another service rendered to a respected associate. It was supposed to be nothing special to the strongest of _I Prescelti Sette_. It's not like he hadn't taught before, so why was it different with _him_? How could the slip of a boy—now a man—resuscitate his dead existence without even trying? Without him noticing? And let it not be said that his past lovers were few and inexperienced; yet none of them even came close to making him feel _this_.

 

All thought and introspection flew from his mind as he leaned in and devoured the lips that breathed life into him, hungry and greedy for it to fill the void that rent his soul. His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest, a reminder that he was alive and tangible and real. His large hand reached up to loosen a tie, the other too busy clutching at chestnut hair to help its brother. Rustles vaguely registered in his ears as the kiss broke and clothes fell away, revealing the unworldly sight of swollen lips and half-lidded eyes; of a perfect body ethereally glowing under the pale moonlight. He reluctantly closed his eyes to the heavenly vision as slim, calloused fingers trailed from where they were locked behind his neck down his now bare chest like trickles of holy water, washing his sins away. He exhaled shakily, trembling despite the liquid fire being ignited in his veins.

 

He prostrated himself over this divine being, worshipping with reverent touches of fingers and lips and teeth and tongue, orating whispers of litanies that sang _his_ praise. He followed every familiar dip and crevice in his pilgrimage, and he reveled in the moans and groans and gasps of pleasure—a humbling acceptance of his adoration. He yearned to hear more, for he knew no melody could be more sublime.

 

" _Reborn…"_

 

To anyone else who heard it, the utterance would just be a trivial, almost silent appellation; but to him it was a command he would never think twice to obey.

 

The ritual continued as oil-slicked fingers anointed an entrance, going in, circling, stretching: one at first, then two, then three. All the while he stared down at his beloved, eyes raking up and down the image before him; drinking, savoring, taking in as much as he could, lest it disappear in an instant—lest all of it was just a ghostly apparition of his heart's wicked desires.

 

" _Reborn!"_

 

And there it was again. He could feel the sense of urgency this time: those erratic breaths, that pounding pulse, those arms akimbo on wrinkled sheets. Like a sacrifice being given up in exchange for his salvation.

 

He knelt before his messiah and clasped their hands together in a blasphemous parody of prayer. He slid himself in slowly, gently; mindful and temperate as he entered the temple that was _his_ body. But devout as he was, his patience could not be stretched further and soon the thin, taut strings broke with a harsh and audible snap. He pressed soft kisses onto _his_ skin, nuzzling _his_ neck, seeking penance for his lack of forbearance; and _his_ name spilled forth from his lips as they rocked together in reckless abandon, melding into each other in mind, body, and soul. With each thrust he bared a little more of himself, willingly laying everything out for _his_ judgment, fearful yet trusting and faithful that he would never be turned away; that he would always bask in the cleansing light of _his_ presence that made him whole. _Perfetto. Completo._

 

His spine arched as he howled his climax in _his_ name, and he never once questioned how it was that he saw the universe behind his closed eyes, or how he stood on the edge of comprehending all creation; beyond caring for the triviality of knowing. He was lost in the ecstasy of rapture and nothing else mattered, for nothing else existed outside of their sacred communion.

 

He shifted to the side, gathering _him_ in his arms as he settled on the bed and accepted the soft, languid kiss that was his absolution. Strong, lean arms encircled him in turn and he found solace and contentment in them: a sanctuary for his tired and restless soul.

 

"I missed you" his angel said. His only answer was to tighten his embrace.

 

"I didn't want you to go on that mission, you know... But there was no other—"

 

"Sshhh," a press of fingers against immaculate lips, "I told you. If it protects the _famiglia_ , it protects you. And you know I can and will do _anything_ to achieve that."

 

"But—"

 

"Tsuna."

 

He firmly held the chocolate gaze, answering the unasked question.

 

"You are everything. Even if it's just a small threat, I won't let it go. Do you understand?" _'I can't afford to lose you. I can't.'_

 

Everything of his was hanging in a precarious balance, and the mere thought of losing _him_ was enough to reveal his tumultuous hold on his sanity.

 

An eternity passed in a single moment, and a touch of insight and realization sparked in the brown orbs.

 

"Aa."

 

A soft smile, a sweet kiss. Reassuring hands petting those spikes of midnight hair. And just like that, the scales tipped back in restored equilibrium.

 

Reborn did not believe in any god—it was in his nature.

_'But if there was anything to believe in, it would be you,'_ his onyx eyes shone with absolute faith and love.

_'La mia religióne.'_

* * *

_**religion** [rɪˈlɪʤən]_

__

_**1** a complex of beliefs and acts of worship that connects human life to a higher order and particularly to the divine, understood as the ultimate end of all things_

_**2** [figuratively] feeling of reverence_

_**3** monastic order, religious congregation_

* * *

**Index:**

**La Mia** **Religióne –** My Religion

 **sangue –** blood

 **I Prescelti Sette –** The Chosen Seven

 **perfetto –** perfect

 **completo –** complete

 **famiglia** **–** family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feed the author. Reviews will be very much appreciated. XD


	2. Gokudera Hayato: Il Mio Pastóre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter...
> 
> Pairing: **Non-romantic 2759 (because I honestly think that Gokudera-kun worships Tsu-kun to the point of never crossing that line, no offense to the shippers out there)**
> 
> Rating: **T (for Gokudera-kun's potty mouth... and thoughts, for that matter. XD)**

**Disclaimer:**  If Katekyo Hitman Reborn was mine, Tsuna would really be god.

 

* * *

 

**Gokudera Hayato: Il Mio Pastóre**

* * *

_**pastóre** _ _[pa'store]_ _s.m._

__

_**1** _ _chi guida al pascolo greggi o armenti_

_**2** _ _[in senso figurato] guida spirituale, e specialmente sacerdote_

_**3** _ _una rappresentazione di Cristo: il Buon Pastore_

* * *

"I've been wondering for some time now, but I didn't know how to bring it up… How come  _il signor_ _ìno_  Hayato doesn't look a thing like  _la signóra_?"

 

"Didn't you know?"

 

"Oh, that's right! She's one of the newer ones!"

 

"Since I'm feeling generous, I'll tell you… But you'd better know how to shut your trap when others might hear, girl. Don't get yourself killed now."

 

"O-of course! …"

 

" _Il signor_ _ìno non è un figlio della signóra._ "

 

"Ah! But s-something like that is... It's forbidden! It can't be! Then who—"

 

"Think about it! Who does he remind you of?"

 

"!"

 

" _La pianista morta_ _è la sua vera madre._ "

 

* * *

 

The monsters inside his head mocked and jeered, whispering in a sing-song in his ears:

 

' _Run! Run! Far away from the sting of betrayal! As far as your little legs can carry you, wherever your tiny feet lead to! Bastardo pietoso! Run! Run!'_

 

Cruel laughter only he could hear echoed through the empty streets, drowning out the hurried pattering of expensive leather against weathered cobblestone. He kept on going, ignoring how the clumps of houses gave form to the voices, feeling their paned eyes follow his every move as he passed. Everything cast shadows upon shadows in the night, transforming into things that make little  _ragazzi_  cower in fear under the safety of their cocooned blankets.

_He didn't know where he was going._

 

The tear tracks on his cheeks have long been dried by the unforgiving autumn wind. He was tired, oh so tired, but he couldn't—wouldn't stop.

_He had to get away. Getawaygetawaygetaway!_

 

He tripped over a loose rock, scraping his hands and knees as they made contact with the sharp, uneven ground. The fall sapped what little strength he had left, and his small body succumbed to exhaustion as he just let himself slump on the dingy alley, unmindful of the dirt and grime that would surely stain his pristine clothes.

 

He lay there: bruised, hurt, but far from broken. An old man's bitter smile had no place on an innocent child's face, and yet it was there: sardonic and full of weariness in the painful realization of how cruel life can be. He curled into himself, shivering from the cold that permeated his bones; from the ice that was slowly encasing his heart. His brilliant young mind had already understood and accepted everything.

 

As the darkness crept from the edges of his vision, he couldn't help but think that he'd rather die here, cold and hungry, like a pauper who sees the truths of the world, than live like a prince in a castle full of lies.

 

* * *

_He was right back where he started._

 

Wisps of smoke and scattering ash trailed behind him as he stalked the walkways, a frown and flecks of dried blood marring his otherwise handsome face. It always came down to this, didn't it? He laughed bitterly. He had always been the stray, taken in and almost immediately thrown back out as soon as the masters realized he was too much of a risk to take on. He had potential, they knew that. Young as he was, he had already made a name for himself after all. Less scrupulous  _famiglie_  reluctantly let him into their ranks despite his _impurity_  for his talents, but his stay would always be short-lived. He was simply too unpredictable, too uncontrollable, too volatile for their tastes. Brilliant  _mafiosi_ like him were hard to come by these days, but one thing would never change: in a world where every move was measured and calculated, there was no permanent place for wild cards like him. A moment's hesitation, a second of uncertainty, or an instant of lost patience could very well lead a  _famiglia_  and its reputation to ruin. And then there's the matter of how much of a... _taint_  it was to have a bastard like him on board.

_'Cowards!'_

 

He took a long drag from his cig to try and calm himself, letting the nicotine run through his system. Here he was, back out on the streets: no jobs, no duties, no  _famiglia_.

_And he was right. Fucking. Back. Where. He. Started._

__

_**"Affanculo!"** _

 

He spat the cigarette out to the side in annoyance, the dying embers glowing ominously before being completely snuffed out by the cold night air.

 

In the recesses of his mind, he knew that he was at least partially responsible for it. Even if he threw all of himself on the line for whatever job he was assigned—yes, even his life; especially his life, if only to prove his worth—he had yet to put his absolute trust, loyalty, and faith in anybody. He had yet to find that one person he could, without a shadow of doubt, do anything and everything for. It felt like he'd been searching forever, wandering every which way in fruitless pursuits.

_No direction, always going back to the beginning. Circles, always in circles._

 

And sometimes in his weaker moments, the monsters in his head came whispering again:

_"What would they do with your measly existence, huh? You're a product of sin, a child born out of adultery! And a mixed-blood at that! Did you already forget, Bastardo pietoso? Blood twice disgraced runs through your veins! You are nothing! NOTHING! You think that by offering your life you could prove your usefulness? How naïve!"_

 

The laughter was as merciless as ever, hitting right where it hurt the most, but he never fully surrendered to it. He was too stubborn to give up just like that. If nothing else, it strengthened his angry resolve despite the change in its direction.

 

He knew he had to let go of something. Years of all the same shit had taken its toll on him and he was finally ready to give up all hope of ever finding his ideal boss. That search would just have to stop. From this point on, he would take what he could. No standards meant no disappointments. It's not like he had much of a choice to begin with, anyway.

_'Beggars can't be choosers.'_

 

He ignored the dull pain that accompanied the harsh reality of his thoughts.

_Besides, how could he go in search for something when he couldn't even find his own way?_

* * *

Envy and resentment stirred in his heart when he first heard about him, and started to fester as soon as he laid eyes upon the subject of his ire. His aristocratic features twisted into a sneer at the obliviously privileged boy who was currently cowering in his seat in a futile attempt to escape his piercing glare.

 

Save for his genius intellect, he had worked damned hard for every-fucking-thing he had now; to be what and where he was today. And this! This poor excuse of a boy was being handed everything on a silver fucking platter! To belong to a  _famiglia_  with such prestige and power was a priceless honor that should be accepted gratefully. Never mind that the brat didn't ask for it, never mind that the weakling was practically thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim! The fact that the shitty brat had the gall to actually reject it fanned the flames of his fury. To see something he wanted so fucking bad just casually tossed to the side with no regard whatsoever pushed him closer to the edge. The asshole had no fucking right to waste it like that, Vongola blood or no!

 

The strength with which he clenched his fists left bloody half-moons on his palms. He walked down the aisle and stopped before the wimp's table. He couldn't care less about the teacher's yells for him to go to his seat, nor the roomful of curious eyes that settled on his prone form. His anger was a coil being squeezed to the limit, and it sprang out in a violent kick. The desk clattered noisily where it fell. The cowering worsened, if that was even possible.

 

"Ch'. Pathetic."  _Weakunworthyuselessgoodfornothingwasteofspace…_

_'The same could be said for you. Look, it's the pot calling the kettle black!'_  his monsters mocked, pouring salt into the open wounds.

 

Ignoring them, he went straight to his seat and spent the rest of the day boring holes into the shivering back with his unwavering stare, lost in the red haze of his anger.

 

He welcomed the final bell's chimes, his fingers twitching at the prospect of releasing his pent-up emotions. He moved to follow the wimp, making sure to be stealthy; at least until they were completely alone. He scoffed at the coward's reaction to the punk-ass seniors looking to bully someone.

 

"Your wussiness is an eyeful," he said, surprising the brunet. "If a pinprick like you becomes the Tenth, the Vongola family is finished."

 

He was sure the disgust was evident on his face. The stutter in the feeble replies increased two-fold.

 

"It's a waste of time evaluating a weakling like you."

 

He made a show of lighting up his cigarette, as if talking to the boy was a chore he'd rather not do, boring and troublesome all at the same time. Finally, he turned the full blast of his glare to the brat, dynamites in hand.

 

"You're a nuisance. Die right here."

* * *

"Ushishishi!... Ring... Ring!"

 

He struggled, fighting with all he had and then some. He wouldn't let go of this chance to serve and to prove himself worthy. He had to break away from the stigma that stuck to him like a leech; to preserve at least some of the dignity it had yet to suck out of him.

_I'mnotuselessdon'tthrowmeawayletmestayacceptmeplease!_

 

A manic glint uncharacteristic of him appeared in his eyes, making them shine with a sickly green hue. With all this time spent battling with the deranged prince... Was it possible for insanity to be contagious? Or perhaps he'd been this way all along? After all, he'd been hearing non-existent voices for as long as he could remember.

 

Another explosion rocked the building. Nearer, this time.

**"LET GO, YOU CRAZY FUCKING PSYCHO!"**

 

He punched and kicked and rolled them around, fully intending to make the vice-like grip slacken on the chain around his neck. He knew time was running out. Neither combatant's resolve budged, both refusing to relinquish the rings that have become their lifeline.

 

All the others kept on yelling for him to come back, to just up and walk away from his duty to turn things around in their favor; but he was undeterred. He would sacrifice his life if need be.

 

"EVEN IF I DIE HERE, I WON'T WITHDRAW!"

_'We can't afford to lose! Is that so fucking hard to understand?'_

__

_**"STOP FOOLING AROUND!"** _

_'Th-that voice...'_

 

"Do you even know what we're fighting for? It's so that we can all have snowball fights and watch fireworks together! That's why we became stronger! We're fighting so that everyone can laugh together again! It will all be meaningless if you die!"

_'Juudaime...'_

 

The simple honesty of those uttered words, the sincerity in the tone of that earnest voice lifted the veil from his eyes; eyes that were now as clear as the purest emeralds on earth.

_He finally saw the path he had to take._

 

The forged metal he had deemed more precious than his life seemed so ordinary now, so plain and lackluster. Just like that, he let it all slip from his grasp. The chain broke at his nape and he let it slide off, relieved of a burden so great he could fly.

 

He staggered as he made to return, following a definite path despite the chaos in the explosions of fire, smoke, wind and debris going on around him. The storm raged, yet he remained calm and steadfast in his journey. Step. Step. Step. One foot in front of the other, slow and steady to get to where he needed to be. To where he was supposed to be. Nothing could stop him now.

 

For he who was lost had been found by  _him_ , had been picked up in those strong and accepting arms to be brought back into the fold, had been guided through the darkness in his own mind by the sound of  _his_  voice...

_He was finally home._

 

Deep in his heart he renewed his vows, eternally pledging himself to the man who had become his everything.

_'I shall follow you to the ends of the Earth, il mio pastóre.'_

* * *

_**shepherd** _ _[_ _ˈʃepəd]_

_**1** _ _one who guides_ _flocks or herds to the pastures_

_**2** _ _[figuratively] spiritual guide; particularly, a priest_

_**3** _ _a representation of Christ: the Good Shepherd_

* * *

**Index:**

**Il Mio Pastóre —** My Shepherd

 **il signorìno —** the young master

 **la signóra —** the madame

 **Il signorìno non è un figlio della signóra. —** The young master is not the madame's son.

 **La pianista morta è la sua vera madre. —** The dead pianist is his real mother.

 **bastardo pietoso —** pitiful bastard

 **ragazzi —** boys

 **famiglie —** families

 **mafiosi —** plural of mafioso; mafia men

 **famiglia —** family

 **Affanculo! —** Fuck it all!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma go and wash out Gokudera-kun's mouth and brains with soap now. Leave me a review? I'll love you forever. XD


	3. Yamamoto Takeshi: La Mia Salvézza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone gets confused, this whole chapter is written in the first person point of view of Yama-cchi. Italicized dialogue means someone else is saying it out loud. I'm actually experimenting on stylistics throughout the whole fic, so... yeah. And it's my first time to write anything non-drabble in first person narrative, so feedback would really be helpful. I'm stepping out of my comfort zone in this one. n_n;;
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the bookmark, **Kazi_kun**! And thanks to everyone else for the hits.
> 
>  **Special thanks go to my dear diosioscies and my darling QB** for their insights regarding my experiment on first person POV.
> 
>  
> 
> In this chapter...
> 
> Pairing: **2780 (I feel like making Tsu-kun a seme for Yama-cchi right now. I'm such a whimsical author lol), hints of R27 (you know you also want this XD)**
> 
> Rating: **E (for suicidal tendencies, hints of polyamorous relationships, and sex)**

**Disclaimer:**  If Katekyo Hitman Reborn was mine, explicit All27 and/or 27All would be splattered all over the pages of the manga. Of course, it goes without saying that the anime would be something like that, too. XD  _/sigh/_  A pervy yaoi fangirl can dream.

 

* * *

 

**Yamamoto Takeshi: La Mia Salvézza**

* * *

_**salvézza** _ _[sal'vettsa]_ _s.f._

_**1** l'essere salvo_

_**2** persona o cosa che salvi o abbia salvato_

_**3** _ _[relig.] liberazione dal peccato e dalle sue conseguenze_

* * *

I'm staring at him again.

 

I can't help it; there's this pull that just reels me in even if I try to force my thoughts to go another way.

 

I let my breath out slowly. Sighing would only invite unwanted attention.

 

My classmates would puzzle over this strange…  _curiosity_  if they knew I still had it. Not that it's any of their business, but why would an easy-going popular guy like me possibly want to have anything to do with the loser everyone else either bullied or ignored?

 

' _You're just wasting your time thinking about useless things,'_  is what they would say, dismissively scoffing in the direction of the class pariah before shifting the conversation to other things, as if the subject had never been brought up.

 

My grin strains at these thoughts—

 

No, not thoughts. Memories. They're memories…

 

—as I let all the idle chatter just go over my head.

 

" _Who's going out with whom?"_

" _What's the latest fashion trend?"_

" _Did you hear the recent gossip?"_

 

Trivial things are talked about in fevered excitement, as if it would spell life or death for those involved. I never did understand how any of it was that important, but I've learned to just accept things as they are. Questioning it would only earn me incredulous stares and answers that make no sense to me; so I smile and nod in the right places, shrug my shoulders, or make off-hand comments that don't really mean anything either. In a way, I brought this upon myself for willingly stepping into a trap to gain the elusive acceptance of my peers. It seemed like it was fun at first. Now I'm not so sure.

 

" _So Yamamoto, when do you think you'll recover? It's such a shame that you got injured. And so close to the game, too!"_

 

Nods all around.

 

Is being popular supposed to feel this hollow?

 

" _What happened to your arm, anyway?"_

 

"I overdid it at practice yesterday, haha," I answer, adding in the small laugh of embarrassment expected of me.

 

" _Silly Yamamoto. You shouldn't have done that."_

" _Yeah, how are we supposed to win now?"_

 

Everyone keeps on looking at me, but they don't see  _me_.

 

They don't say it, but I hear it loud and clear.

 

' _If not for baseball, you're just about as useless as Dame-Tsuna.'_

 

My own gaze strays to the slightly hunched form that always seemed to want to curl in on itself to get away from hurtful and judging eyes. I can't help but think that I actually understand how he feels.

 

I can't decide who's more pitiful: the boy who had been doomed to a solitary life in the scorn of cruel and ignorant children; or the idol who's alone despite being surrounded and adored by all?

 

I turn my eyes away. I have no time to think about that now.

 

Baseball is the one constant in my life. What should I do, now that it has been taken away from me?

 

Without it, I am nothing.

 

There's only one thing left to do, then.

 

I face the crowd as I always have. Maybe for the last time.

 

I'm slowly drowning in an ocean of shallow mirth and empty words, barely staying afloat in holding on to my equally empty smiles.

* * *

Namimori really is a beautiful and peaceful place. No wonder Hibari-sempai loves it so much.

 

The wind ruffles my hair. It brings with it the scent of the coming rain.

 

I look from beyond the fence to see a small crowd.

 

Ah, they're here. How did they find me so fast?

 

" _Hey Yamamoto, this isn't funny! You're taking it too far!"_

 

"Heh. Sorry, but that's not true. After the baseball god threw me away, I have nothing left."

 

I was abandoned by the only god I believed in. A jolt of electricity races up my bandaged arm, adding insult to injury.

 

" _No way…"_

" _He's serious?!"_

" _That fence is rusty and might fall apart anytime, too!"_

 

I look back and see them standing far from where I am. They all listen to my voice, but they don't hear  _me_. That gap is proof enough.

 

I look down.

 

Wow, it's a long way to the ground. I wonder… will it also feel as long when I actually jump?

 

" _ **Please stop!"**_

 

And the gap is no more. How is it possible for it to be filled by just one person? My heart is starting to beat faster.

 

"Tsuna…"

 

Do you see me?

 

"If you came to stop me, it's no use. You should be able to understand my feelings."

 

Can you hear me?

 

"For someone who's called 'dame' all the time, you can understand the feeling of preferring to die over failing at everything, right?"

 

" _No…"_

 

My heart stops.

_"You and I are different, so…"_

 

It was wrong of me to think that he wouldn't be like them. The bitterness I feel bleeds through my words.

 

"How arrogant of the recently awesome Tsuna-sama. So you're a fine student now as opposed to me."

 

Ah, he stepped a bit on my pride there. To be fair, I used to be one of those who looked down on him. If I wasn't so angry, I might have felt shame from my own hypocrisy.

 

" _N-no! That's wrong! It's because I'm no good!"_  he waves his hands frantically.

 

My head snaps up. Dare I hope?

 

" _Unlike you, I've never put effort into one single thing… I arrogantly told you to put in more effort and such, but I've really done nothing. I'm sorry! What I said yesterday was a lie!"_

 

The remorse on his face is genuine.

 

" _Saying you're so frustrated that you want to die… Unlike you, I've never had those kinds of intense thoughts…"_

 

He looks down, breaking our eye contact.

 

In a much quieter voice he continues, _"In fact, I'm a pathetic person who would have regrets when dying, thinking if I'm going to die then I should've done it with my dying will: thinking it's a waste to die because of something like this…"_

 

His clenched fists are paler than I remember them being just moments ago.

 

" _So, I can't understand your feelings. Sorry."_  His bangs are still covering his eyes.

 

No! Let me see your eyes! Look at me!

 

He turns away, obviously attempting a quick escape.

 

Panic surges out from my chest as he lifts a foot to take a step away from me. I don't know why, but I can't let him go! Not like this!

 

"Wait, Tsuna!"

 

I'm not thinking anymore. My hand moves on its own.

 

The unsettling feeling disappears the moment I close my fist around the fabric of his shirt, despite the groan of the rusted fence as it gives way; only to return as the world tilts and the sky is beneath my feet and my uninjured hand is grasping nothing once more.

 

I call his name.

 

He's become so far away.

 

How about that? It really does feel as long as it looks: the fall.

 

Do it with your dying will, huh?

 

I smile sadly. I guess it's too late for that...

 

And suddenly the world flips again and I'm being held securely. He's between me and the ground.

 

Why? Why does he risk his life for mine? I am nothing.

 

His determined profile fills my sight as everything else fades away into blurs of colors and sounds and feelings. I barely register that we have landed.

 

I look into his worried eyes.

 

I smile reassuringly. The worry turns into relief.

 

Perhaps it was for the best... For me to be thrown away by one god, only to be picked up by another.

* * *

I slowly trudge up the front steps of the mansion in the pouring rain, dragging my now wooden sword behind me and leaving trails of blood that's not my own on the flawless white marble.

 

I extend my hand towards the door. It swings open before my fingers could even begin to touch it. I let my hand fall back to my side.

 

I feel so numb; I barely notice hallways and doors rushing by as I am pulled inside...

 

I'm such a mess.

 

As I am now, the ground beneath me could crumble and give way, and I wouldn't even realize it. I guess they weren't fooling around when they told me that the first would hit me hard.

 

Hah!

 

How utterly useless. How utterly laughable! For a natural-born hitman to be like this after just one kill...

 

Pins and needles pierce my skin from the inside.

 

Ah, it seems like I'm regaining my senses...

 

Water sprinkles softly on my face.

 

Rain again? I thought I was already inside...?

 

I couldn't really bring myself to care, though. It's so warm...

 

But something's not right. I try to blink the heaviness away from my eyelids and focus.

_He's_  crouched before me, his form glorious even in sopping wet clothes, gingerly washing the blood off my hands.

 

"Tsuna? Wh—"

_"It's okay. I'm here."_

 

No! It's not okay! You shouldn't see me like this, much less sully your hands with the filth of mine! I'm supposed to be the rain that washes everything away! I'm supposed to be doing that for you, not the other way around!

 

My feeble struggles do nothing to faze him as he continues his work, and I curse this body for being too weak.

 

He erases the horrid red splotches with patience and care, meticulously ridding my shaking form of the damning evidence left by the sins I've committed.

 

He takes away the ruined clothes and stays wrapped around me far longer than bundling me up in a towel requires. The heaviness on my lids returns two-fold as the warmth— _his warmth_ —seeps through my being.

 

I silently watch as he replaces his clothes with dry ones before he does the same to me. He half-carries me to my bed and settles me in.

 

He moves to turn off the lights, but is stopped by my shameless hand as it refuses to let go. My pained gaze meets his gentle and accepting one, and I am awed by just how much he knows and understands.

 

He lies beside me and my body curls up in the warm comfort of his embrace. He presses a kiss on my forehead, now beginning his work in washing the black spots off my soul.

_"Sleep,"_  he commands.

 

And I obey.

* * *

Before  _him_ , there was nothing: a meaningless existence full of laughing masks and empty shells. I was alive yet not living; hung on a noose, barely breathing. It was such a pitiful and foolish life. A wasted life. I didn't even have to jump off a building! Continuing to go through each day as I did back then would have eventually done the job.

 

I was dying, and I didn't even know it.

 

"Ah!"

 

His lips are burning trails of fire on my skin, steering me away from the dark thoughts.

_"You are alive, and your continued existence is from me."_

 

His breath ghosts at my neck.

_"Because of me."_

 

His hot tongue laves at the skin there.

_"For me."_

 

His teeth lightly nip me in admonishment.

 

He knows what goes on in my head. He says what I need him to. He always does.

_"Have you forgotten?"_

 

"No," my eyes meet his, head on. "Never."

 

His kiss is my reward, and I open my mouth as much as I can, drawing his tongue further in with my own. He indulges me, and I'm once again drunk on the desire he feeds me with.

 

A moan of protest escapes my gluttonous lips before I could hold it in as he withdraws and pins me with a stare.

_"See that you never do."_

 

The heat in his gaze is too much for anyone to handle, but I can't bring myself to look away. Orange fire sparks in his darkened eyes as I kneel in deference, my hands and mouth eager to offer worship to the one who defines my existence; to the one who wrenches me away from the downward spiral of my desolate mind; to the one who frees me from my sins when even I can't forgive myself. I watch as he watches me pleasure him, and his hands pet my hair, lightly massaging my scalp in encouragement. My tongue swirls around him as I take him deeper, and deeper still, into myself. Driven by instinct, I start to hum tonelessly. The clutching of lean fingers at my hair is the only indication of the strain on his control. I lap faster, suck harder; and soon a torrent of warmth assaults my throat, filling my mouth with rivulets of his divine essence; some of it spilling out the side of my lips as I let go of him. My tongue follows the slow trickle before it reaches my chin. My gluttony knows no bounds.

 

With my arms around him, I press my cheek against his hard stomach, nuzzling the rippling muscles while I catch my breath. I have yet to find my own release, but I resist the urge to touch myself to get it.

 

The door creaks open, and someone steps in. I don't need to look to know who it is, but my eyes follow the movement anyway.

_"So this is where you were."_

 

I slightly bend backwards, leaning my head against the wall to get a better view. Reborn approaches from behind and tilts Tsuna's head back for an upside down kiss. It finishes with a lewd wet sound and a long glistening trail. My pants have never felt tighter.

 

They look at each other for a while, silently communicating as they always do. Even after all these years, none of us still knew how they could possibly understand each other like that: no words, no gestures, not even a twitch nor a change in expression.

_"I see."_

 

The world's greatest hitman smirks and goes back the way he came, their entire conversation lost to me. I ponder it no further as strong hands lift me to stand and receive the remnants of an espresso-flavored kiss, made even more enticing by the underlying taste that is uniquely Tsuna. The door quietly clicks closed. Now there is only him and me.

 

My hands move to nudge the open shirt off his shoulders before sliding my fingers along his sides and pushing his unfastened pants down so they could pool at his feet; my tongue held captive by his all the while. We move across the room and before I know it, I'm falling onto my bed, naked as the day I was born. Where had my clothes gone? Ah, it doesn't matter. For as long as I can be closer to  _him_ , nothing else matters.

 

I shiver in anticipation as I catch sight of the fire in his eyes, the rush of my own blood roaring in my ears. His skin glows in the faint light of the waning moon, shadows caressing the perfect expanse of delicious, creamy flesh. I lick my suddenly dry lips as he moves over me, as dangerously graceful as a lioness on the prowl. I reach for him, desperate and needy to smell him, taste him, feel him, have him overwhelm my senses before I wake up from this wonderfully cruel dream—

_"Takeshi."_

 

A warning.

 

He really doesn't like where my thoughts are fond of going.

 

I gasp as his fingers twist and pinch my right nipple.

_"This is no dream."_

 

He lowers his head to my chest, taking the hardened left nub in his mouth to harshly suck on.

 

"Nnnnggghhh!"

 

My spine arches from the bed as his unoccupied hand takes me by surprise, his touch so firm yet so gentle, his fist pistoning me agonizingly slowly. His triple assault leaves me breathless and my hands fly to his downy hair, unable to decide whether to keep his head on my abused chest or to pull him up so I could delve into the sweetness of his mouth once again.

 

Everything abruptly stops, and a pitiful whine rips through my throat at the loss. I open my mouth to voice a protest, but release a drawn-out moan instead as a finger, all warm and slick, prepares me for what is to come. He stretches me: pushing it in, circling, then pulling it out—adding another digit and repeating the process until I feel three of them wiggling inside. I wince at the slight discomfort, but forget about it almost immediately when the long, skilled fingers curl and touch  _there_ , making stars explode in my vision. Satisfied, he takes his hand away.

 

My mind is rendered incapable of coherent thought and I can do nothing but cling to him for dear life as he fills me in more ways than one: my body saturated with pleasure, my heart bursting with love, my soul overflowing with his light. He gives and gives and gives and never asks for anything in return and I want to give him everything but everything pales in comparison because it will never ever be enough and he raises me up and I soar higher, flying as he takes me with him and I don't fear the fall because he won't ever let me because he's the sky that embraces all and even if I wanted to I could never let go because all I really want is to be  _one_  with him despite my unworthy self and—

 

I am suddenly whole and perfectly unblemished, my heart pure and light, my soul clear and undefiled even by my very nature. I breathe again (when did I stop breathing?), taking in everything as though for the first time. The world is a kaleidoscope and I am but a newborn, eyes wide with wonder and awe. There are just too many precious things taken for granted and most have to lose them to properly appreciate the beauty of being  _alive_. I realize that now, lucky to never have lost anything in exchange for this costly piece of wisdom.

 

I look at his knowing eyes as I intertwine our fingers. For what is an ingrate but one who lets go of the hand that saves him, selfishly cheapening the gracious act by choosing to plunge into the ruin he was delivered from?

 

He smiles the smile that could very well open the gates of heaven as I bring his hand to my lips and reverently kiss the back of it in acceptance.

 

"I will never let go of this hand,  _la mia salvézza_."

* * *

_**salvation** _ _[_ _salˈveɪʃn]_

_**1** _ _the state of being saved_

 _**2** _ _person or thing that saves or has saved you_

 _**3** _ _[relig.] deliverance from sin and its consequences_

* * *

**Index**

**La Mia Salvézza** **—** My Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I've got to say for myself is: IT WAS BEGGING TO BE WRITTEN. Leave me a comment to share your thoughts on it, okay? I'll be waiting. XD


End file.
